


Fueled by Hate

by actualgayrobot



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Spoilers for Episode 6, kind of?, mentions of Tom - Freeform, servant oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualgayrobot/pseuds/actualgayrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mira Forrester hates her new husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fueled by Hate

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened. I don't even like this ship, really. I just couldn't remember the other ending Mira could have and so I looked it up and was like "marriage to that Morgryn guy? How would that even work out?" and then I couldn't get this idea out of my head. RIP me.

" _Lady Forrester, **please**!_ ”

Tom’s final words, his desperate plea for survival, are all Mira can think about for weeks. Everything else goes by in a blur—she’s married off, Margery and Sera bid her goodbye and give her pleasant wishes for her future, and she’s moved into the home of her new husband, Rickard Morgryn. 

She’s disconnected from reality for what feels to her like years. She hardly sleeps—when she does she is plagued by nightmares, the image of Tom’s beheading haunting her. She feels nothing but guilt for what happened. She should have done something to save him—anything. He was innocent, he stuck his neck out for her too many times to count, and this is how she repaid him? It should have been her on that executioner’s block.

And yet…

Life is surprisingly… bearable. Rickard Morgryn has left Mira alone, for the most part, after seeing her state. He’s hardly touched her, Mira realizes one day, as she sits in her lonesome beside one of the estate’s many grand windows. He’s given her space—time to adjust and time to mourn.

Does this make him a good person in Mira’s mind? Of course not. She doesn’t forget that Morgryn is the one who hired the guard to kill her. She doesn’t forget that he’s the one who put her between a rock and a hard place, making her choose between her own death and a forced marriage.

Her own death or Tom’s.

And that’s when it hits her. It’s **not** her fault. Well, not entirely. While she is aware she practically gave the executioner the go-ahead for beheading Tom, Morgryn is the one who made Mira kill the guard in defense. Morgryn is the one who made her choose between her death and this marriage. Morgryn is the one who made her choose between her own life and Tom’s.

And she is **livid**. 

When she finally stands, with more clarity in her mind than ever before, she angrily makes a beeline for Morgryn. She knows he’s home, she knows he’s around somewhere, and she’s going to find him.

When a servant sees her up and walking, her steps firm and with purpose, she questions her.

“Lady Morgryn?”

She flinches at the new name, but her gaze is steady and her soul calls for blood, “Bring me to my husband immediately,” she demands, hiding her revolt of the taste of ‘husband’ on her tongue. Even so, the servant fails to notice Mira’s disgust for the word and stands stiffly, “Y-yes, ma’am! Please, follow me!”

Mira Forrester is led to one of Rickard’s offices by the servant, who hardly bats his eyelashes at the appearance of the servant.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” he asks with a sigh, dully waving his hand at the fretting servant.

“Ser! Your wife—er, Lady Morgryn, that is—she requested to see you!”

He perks up at the news, looking up from his papers and eyeing the two women in the doorway.

“Oh? Why, Mira! By the Gods, it is you!”

He seems amused by his new wife’s appearance, flashing her a crooked smile that Mira wants to wipe off his face.

Mira nods at the nervous servant, who she doesn’t doubt can feel the tension in the air, “Thank you; that will be all, miss…?”

“Oh! Uhm, Eyva, miss!”

“Then that will be all, Eyva.”

“Yes, Lady Morgryn, of course.”

The servant bowed, quickly but deeply, before disappearing out of the doorway and back into the depths of the house.

“Well,” Rickard began, lacing his fingers together and leaning his chin on them, “quite surprising to see you up and about, Mira. You’ve been in a bit of a daze for… why, almost a month now. Feeling better?”

Mira could feel the anger running through her veins—a sick, hot feeling making its way through her entire body. She clenches her hands at her sides, shooting Rickard the iciest glare she could manage.

“You’re responsible for all of this, Rickard.”

“Responsible for what, exactly? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific, dear.”

“Everything,” Mira practically spits, “For all the Hell I went through at King’s Landing, from the guard to Tom to forcing me into this marriage— _all of it_.”

“Well, that’s quite a lot of credit to give me, wouldn’t you say? Although, I will say I did have a rather _large_ part in it all. Still, I wouldn’t say it’s _all_ my fault.”

“You tried to kill me—more than once, might I add—and made me choose between death by beheading, or death by _marriage_. And for what? What do you get out of it?”

“What do I get?” Rickard repeats, pushing himself from his chair and reaching out to take Mira’s hand in his, “Why, I get a marriage to _you_ , my lovely Mira, don’t I?”

He places a kiss on her hand ever so briefly before she yanks it away, trying her best to ignore the lingering burn on her hand from his kiss. She wants nothing more than to wipe her hand clean, as if that would rid her hand forever from the history of that kiss, but refrains from appearing undignified in her task to clean her hand. 

“What would a man like you gain from marrying a Forrester? We are a dying family, are we not?” Mira asks, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I guess you are. Although, you’re not really a Forrester anymore, are you?” Morgryn smiles, looking pointedly at the gold band on her ring finger.

“I will **always** be a Forrester,” Mira says boldly, perhaps a little too loudly.

Rickard frowns at that, “Look, Mira, you want to know the reason I married you? You were in need. You hadn’t died like you were supposed to, but you were no longer much of a threat. You needed help, you’re young and beautiful, your wit is strong, and I still required a wife and heirs. It worked out for the both of us, no?”

“ _Heirs_?” Mira repeats, “You married me for _heirs_?”

“Well, that’s one of a few reasons, but yes, I suppose it would make sense for you to focus on that.”

“Why? What would a merchant lord possibly need heirs for?”

“Now, no need to be so insulting, Mira. I may not be the most important person alive, but even I wish to start a family. After all, I already have a beautiful wife, what better way to start a loving family?”

“You’re daft if you think I’ll be anything but loving. In fact, you’re daft if you think I’ll even agree to lay with you!”

Rickard frowns at the statement, “In case you have forgotten, Lady _Morgryn_ , you are married to _me_ now. It is simply one of your duties now, as much so as writing invitations for Lady Margery was at King’s Landing. Now, I have waited on you in your time of adjustment, but you’ve obviously recovered.”

“What? You can’t honestly expect… _now_?”

“Heavens, no! What do you take me for? No, no—in about ten minutes, in my bedroom.”

Mira feels her face heating at the idea, in a strange combination of anger, embarrassment, and arousal.

“How dare you assume that I’ll just… just… agree to this!”

“Oh, but won’t you, Mira? After all, it is an excellent way to let off steam. Besides, it is marvelous, don’t you agree? The perfect bonding experience for new couples. Even better, no love required.”

Mira is too horrified and stunned to silence to answer—or to admit that she has no idea if it is “marvelous”—for she’s never done it before in her life. She watched Rickard walk towards the door, brushing past her and taking one of her wrists as he does so.

“I’ll be waiting in my chambers, Lady Morgryn,” he mutters against her hand, pressing a prolonged kiss to it.

Mira watches him disappear down the hallway, frozen in place as he leaves.

 

Mira paces the office for much longer than necessary, but she’s still trying to figure out what went wrong with the conversation. How did they get so off track? How did it come to… this? And now Rickard Morgryn is waiting in his _chambers_ for her? She worried of the consequences if she doesn’t show—but would there be any? He never tried to pursue her in that way in the last month, while she was in a daze. If he were that kind of man, he would’ve leapt at the opportunity to take advantage of her while she was so unresponsive. But he didn’t. Did that mean she could avoid it longer?

But the proposition still sat at the back of her mind, along with his words: “ _No love required_.”

She hardly knew what that could even mean. No love required? Growing up, her parents loved each other dearly—and often, she remembers with a cringe. Even with the immense amount of awkwardness saved with the memories, she also remembers their words and noises being those of love, of passion. Could such a thing be done without love?

Mira finds herself more curious than anything else, at this point. When she realizes that she’s heading towards her husband’s chambers, she’s ready to convince herself otherwise. But, for some reason, she doesn’t. She figures this is bound to happen eventually, plus she has no idea what any of it entails. Truly, she’s… curious.

She enters his chambers to find him mostly undressed, unbuttoning the last shirt on his body as he looks over to watch her enter.

“Ah, Mira. Decided to join me after all, hmm?”

Mira doesn’t answer. She finds herself staring at Rickard—at his long legs and his toned arms and the hard-to-ignore bulge in his garments. She can feel herself start to sweat and redden, looking away as soon as she found the willpower to do so.

Rickard is smart enough to understand her embarrassment—he realizes that she can’t be older than 24, after all, and has spent much of her life with her family and Margery.

“Don’t be shy, love. Come on in, shut the door behind you.”

She does as he says, nervously rubbing her hands together and trying to look everywhere _but_ Rickard Morgryn.

When she doesn’t move, he goes to her. He tosses his last shirt on the floor, reaching out to hold the arms that Mira has folded across her torso. He rubs his thumbs over her skin slowly, chuckling at her, “My, you’re certainly red, aren’t you?”

Mira finally looks at him, glaring daggers, “I didn’t come here to be ridiculed. Unhand me, this instant.”

Rickard looks at her, his expression anything but amused. He seems focused—his attention solely on Mira.

“What is it, what are you looking at?” She demands angrily, pulling back to release his hold from her. When he leans forward and kisses her forcefully, she finds her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

She hates him. She wants to push him away, to hit him, to find the nearest dagger and stab him.  
But he tastes so good. His lips against hers feel marvelous—he’s warm and his face is just scruffy enough and his hands are large and the perfect size to touch her with.

She wants to hurt him. She also wants to kiss him more.

Mira settles on snaking her fingers in his hair, grabbing fistfuls and pulling, uncaring on if it makes him feel arousal or pain.

Rickard pulls her closer to him, running his hands over her dress quickly, pulling at the buttons and pushing what he can off of her. He’s hardly paying attention, but the dress comes off easy, without needing any special attention. Mira shutters at the feeling of the air against her bare skin, but she hardly has time to react; she feels him run his hands down her legs, lifting her up and dropping her onto the bed.

He quickly straddles over her, nipping at her lips much too hard, grabbing fistfuls of her hair as she grabs and claws at him, trying to do as much damage as she can. Strangely, despite all the pain and the lack of love, they both seem to be enjoying it.

Rickard pauses to kick off his undergarments, the last thing keeping him from being fully naked, and Mira takes the chance to catch him off guard. She pushes him over, quickly climbing over to straddle him. He smiles at her, pleasantly surprised and aroused at her determination. She grinds down on him, instinctively rolling her hips against his cock, feeling the warm skin rub against the folds of her vagina.

He takes the opportunity to run his hands up her body and take handfuls of her breasts, squeezing and playing with them and Mira continues to rock back and forth, letting out soft whimpers as his cock rubs against her clit once or twice. When she arches slightly, distracted by the faint whispers of pleasure, Rickard uses the opportunity to grab her sides and pull her up, letting his cock point itself under her entrance.

He lowers her down slowly, feeling her clench almost immediately after getting the tip inside. She gasps at the feeling, her eyes fluttering shut. He slowly, teasingly eases her down onto his cock, letting her settle before be starts to rock his hips, letting his cock hit her insides in all the places it can until he finds her spot. When he hits it, she lets out a breathy moan, arching her back and sinking down even further on his cock.

Rickard is surprised when she starts to move on her own, rolling her hips and grinding against him as if she knows what she’s doing, as if she knows how to make him feel just as good as she does. He grabs her breasts again, letting his head fall back against the bed’s headboard as she rides him, leaning into his hands as they continue to grab and squeeze her breasts.

Her gasps and moans grow louder and more frequent, letting Rickard known that she’s nearing her edge. She begins to grind faster, her shaking hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as she nears orgasm. Her whole body starts to shake—her legs, her arms, her entire torso. She feels warm from the inside out, as if spring itself has taken root inside of her. When she comes, she feels breathless and exhausted—but Rickard isn’t done yet.

Hearing Mira moan, watching her writhe and gasp on top of him as she came was enough to be his undoing as well. He comes quickly after her, shooting his cum into her, unable to wait any longer before he did so.

The pair simply sits there for a while, panting and shaking and looking at the other with half-lidded stares. When they finally have the energy to readjust, Rickard helps life Mira off of him.

“Now, don’t panic, but when you’re up, be prepared for some white liquid to drip down your legs. It’s perfectly normal, don’t fret.”

Mira didn’t answer. She detached herself from her husband, feeling liquid roll down her thighs as Rickard said. She wiped herself down quickly, fetching her dress off the floor and quickly dressing herself.

“Why, Mira, where ever are you going?”

“Back to my chambers,” Mira said matter-of-factly, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she pulled the dress fully on.

“Why not stay here?” Rickard asked, eyeing his wife with hope.

Mira turned to look at him, “Don’t be mistaken, Ser Morgryn; I still despise you.”


End file.
